Sitting in a Puddle of Anxiety

I’m sitting in a puddle of anxiety.
I feel a little swamped with dark unease
about our present plague and future destiny –
I dread regression, and the rising seas,
and getting older, frailer, losing words and blood
and friends who move or die in form or soul.
But I won’t extricate myself from tepid mud;
I’ll acclimate again, and learn control.

This entry was posted in Health, Personality, Philosophy, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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